


Crowded

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Clone Sex, Clones, Crying, Crying During Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fisting, Genital Swap, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, Implied Consent, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Sounding, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale remembers a time he'd been involved in a threesome, and now that he's with Crowley, the idea isn't quite as appealing. That doens't mean he doesn't want multiple partners, though. As long as they're all Crowley, no harm done, right?-or-Crowley clones himself to give Aziraphale the gang bang he deserves.





	Crowded

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. Someone else made me do this. I just wrote it, don't shoot the messenger.
> 
> I'm kidding. Really had a blast writing this one, so shout out to the Good Omens Big Bang people for talking me into it. Wild ride, here. Enjoy! 𓆏
> 
> Special thanks to [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae) who was the one to bring up the idea, first

By every passing minute, Aziraphale’s chair was becoming less and less comfortable. Crowley had a rather extravagant taste at the best of times, but something particular about this armchair was digging into the back of his thighs in a most unfortunate way. Not because it actually was, but because Aziraphale was imagining it would be, as a rather pointed excuse for how fidgety he’d become. Across the coffee table, Crowley was sitting on the white leather sofa, leaned forward over his knees in a very attentive mood for listening. Because Aziraphale had asked him to listen. And Crowley, ever helpless to Aziraphale’s whim, would listen. Well, he’d had plans to listen. Currently, they’d clocked three minutes on the uncomfortable and heavy silence. Aziraphale was still shifting.

He continued shifting for another three whole minutes while he thought on how to go about speaking. Crowley knew the topic, of course, and it was a rather intimate one. Intimacy wasn’t something Aziraphale was particularly good at talking about, at the best of times. The worst of times led them to silence and shifting and staring. Three very annoying s-words. Lust was the operative word, and Aziraphale was always stuck up on it. Something about sinning, another bad s-word, and Crowley rather didn’t care one way or the other. He would wait, as he always had, until Aziraphale figured out the words he wanted and what order he wanted them in. Eventually, he sighed, and Crowley tuned back in.

“So,” Aziraphale started. He didn’t continue.

“Angel, whatever you have to tell me, it’s alright. If you’d rather wait, that’s fine too.”

“No, no. That’s not it, I’m just nervous. I don’t know how you’re _not_ nervous.”

Crowley just shrugged, but he smiled in his little way. Aziraphale felt all the better for it, he did. As long as one of them wasn’t nervous, then maybe this would go better. All in wishful, hopeful thinking. Besides, this was something right up Crowley’s alley, being a demon. Not that his demon nature had anything to do with it, not anymore—Aziraphale always reminded himself, because he felt guilty when he assumed Crowley went together with something _just_ because he was a demon. This, though, he knew Crowley had experience with. Firsthand. Because they had some of that experience, a lot of that experience, together.

“There was this time in Rome,” Aziraphale started, and rather fast, “you see, where I’d had this rather interesting evening with a man and his wife. We were friends of course, so it was all quite well and good, but—” Aziraphale stopped himself immediately when he saw the look on Crowley’s face. It was all scrunched up in some very unflattering way. Not quite anger, not quite annoyance, but something very close to either. Depending on how Aziraphale would deign to finish his sentence. Aziraphale, decidedly, did not finish his sentence.

“You did not call me in here for some _intimate_ little talk,” Crowley started, “to tell me you had a threesome in Rome, did you?” _that_ was a snarl. “I don’t want to _hear_ about that—”

“No! That wasn’t—that wasn’t the point,” Aziraphale huffed. “If you would just _listen._”

“I am listening. What I heard is that you had a threesome in Rome, and for some reason, thought to tell me about it centuries later.”

“Yes, well—”

“Are you trying to tell me you _want_ to have a threesome _now_?” Crowley asked, and he was getting more irritated by the minute. “Want me to find someone else to come and satisfy—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale did near shout, and Crowley clamped his lips shut. Alright. So, he’d gone off the deep end. He’d always had a flair for the dramatic, and Aziraphale knew that. A sensitive topic wasn’t the time nor the place, however, and Crowley felt the guilt swell up at the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “that was uncalled for.”

“It very much was, but I understand. I didn’t start that right either, because I _don__’t_ want that. To invite someone else to our bed, but I thought, well. That there might be another way.”

Crowley was listening to that. He leaned in real close while Aziraphale stammered through just what he had in mind. By the time Aziraphale finished, Crowley was uncomfortably turned on and stewing up quite the little idea in the back of his mind, one that he had no intention of sharing. Not yet, anyway. Not until it was _time_. Aziraphale wouldn’t know the time, of course, they’d agreed on that. Surprise was half of the fun; Aziraphale knew he could say no, if the timing was off. But with Crowley, the timing was never off. He had a way where he just seemed to know exactly what Aziraphale wanted, exactly what he _needed. _That particular little skill was always what left Aziraphale excited, wrapped up in anticipation for what was to come.

For everything he was, Crowley was certainly attentive and certainly eager to please. They had that in common. There was little that Crowley would deny Aziraphale, and if it was something that _only_ he could do, well. He always took it to another level. There had never been a fantasy or an idea that Aziraphale had which Crowley _didn__’t_ bring to reality, and always, to more than Aziraphale had ever expected. This would be no different. Aziraphale hoped. Every idea he could cook up left him breathless and eager for what was to come.

And two weeks later, when he stepped home to the flat after a long day at the shop, the lights were off. It was a Saturday, which generally meant too things. One, Aziraphale had no prior engagements. He didn’t open the bookshop on Saturdays. Two, Crowley was usually home. This was a direct result of the first thing, because it meant that Crowley could positively monopolize Aziraphale for the next twenty-four hours. Always something to look forward to, but Crowley didn’t seem to be around. Even when Aziraphale called for him, there was no answer.

He tried not to seem to put out about it, but this wasn’t like Crowley at all. It did rather mean he had the night to himself, though, so Aziraphale hummed while he toed off his shoes in the foyer and hung his coat. Something surely had to be on the telly, so he figured a nice night settled in with a cup of tea and a good book, the idle background noise behind him, would be a nice way to spend the evening. When Crowley arrived home, he could scold him for whatever it was worth, and then Crowley might join him on the couch to finish whichever movie he’d chosen to watch. None of it lined up to be exactly the sort of night Aziraphale was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. At least, in his mind, Crowley would be there eventually.

Only, Aziraphale never made it to the kitchen. Even with all the lights in the study off, he could still make out the silhouette of someone sitting in the throne—which he thought might be Crowley, but there was no chance to ask. He’d been grabbed, hard grips around both of his arms, and a hand over his mouth all at once. Even with the lights off, he could see two men, one on either side of him. That was all he could see, nothing defining. No features. Everything was just dark enough to leave him feeling a bit disoriented. A bit frightened. He might have tried to fight, but there were nails digging into his clothing, hard enough that he could feel it through to his skin. Better to not fight, he decided. Better to wait and see what was in store for him.

If he really needed to, well. There were ways.

Instead, he waited. He watched as the figure before him—Crowley, he really hoped it was Crowley—stood from the throne and stalked forward. It was definitely Crowley. He could tell from the swing in his hips as he came closer, closer, until they were inches apart and there was hot breath on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale gulped but met those eyes when they stared him down. They seemed to glow all of their own, a subtle burning light in the space still left between them. Aziraphale might have closed it if there were not two unseen men holding him firmly in place.

“You’re a little late, pet,” Crowley said. “Stop somewhere?” and a hiss, his tongue poking out pointedly.

“Just at the bakery,” Aziraphale replied, when the hand on his mouth moved away. There was a snort, then; Crowley was laughing.

“Always searching for more, my little angel. Not so little, though, are you?” Crowley took that one final step closer and put his hands on Aziraphale’s waist, smoothing over the bumps and rolls.

“Well, I—” Aziraphale cleared his throat. He might have been ready to stop things immediately, because _that_ was a sore subject. It had taken him quite a bit of time to accept and loved how he looked, and knowing Crowley liked it always made it better. It was hard to get offended, though, when Crowley’s touches where kind and gentle, still, for the venom he was working into his words.

“No, no. It’s good like this. I _like it_,” Crowley hissed into his ear, close enough that the tip of his tongue brushed over and sent sparks down Aziraphale’s spin. His tongue had no business doing the things that it could do, and his voice didn’t need to sound so _dark._

“I like a lot of things you do, angel,” Crowley continued, stepping away as if absolutely nothing had happened. “And a lot of things aren’t quite so peachy. Like now,” and Crowley dramatically dropped back into his throne, into the darkness. “You’re late. This isn’t the first time, and I’m quite afraid it won’t be the last. Certainly, there’s something to do about this, yes?”

“I’ll be quite on time from now on,” Aziraphale even tugged at one of his arms, but the man wrenched him back firmly in place. “Oh—please. This hurts.”

There was a pause, one not built into the script by the strangeness of it, but these were the pauses Aziraphale always liked. They meant Crowley was watching him, taking everything in from the way his toes were pointed to how his nose looked. Any sign of discomfort would put an end to everything, but Aziraphale was fine. The holds hurt, but not enough that Aziraphale truly felt in danger. If he did, he would react accordingly. So, nothing was ended. Crowley smirked from his seat.

“Does it, now? Maybe it should hurt a little more?”

“Please don’t,” Aziraphale said, and neither one of them really knew if he meant it.

“I’ve brought in some friends, if you couldn’t tell. You’ve been getting a bit hard to control lately, and I know they’ll help straighten you out. Remind you of your place in this little,” he gestured between them, “arrangement.”

A shiver wound its way down Aziraphale’s spine to his feet. They were going with _that_ narrative, a horrid perversion of the wonderful friendship they’d built up over the centuries. That it hadn’t been an arrangement based on mutual benefit and helpfulness, but that it was an ownership. That Crowley _owned_ Aziraphale and could make him do whatever he pleased. When he got rowdy, Crowley reprimanded him. When he was uncontrollable, Crowley reminded him of his place. On his knees. After Crowley snapped, one of the others kicked Aziraphale right in the bend of his knees and sending him down. There was a thump, but the floor was noticeably softer in this one area than the rest of it.

“Would you like to meet my friends?” Crowley asked.

“_Yes_,” Aziraphale breathed out, which didn’t seem to be enough for Crowley to respond, so he tried again. “Yes, _please._”

Crowley smirked, then. “You know them better than you think, angel. The one on the left there,” and he pointed, “we’ll call that one _Asmodeus_, yes?”

A man who was Crowley in every way but name, now, stepped into Aziraphale’s line of sight. He was beginning to adjust to the darkness, and there was just enough light creeping through the curtains that he could _see_ the other Crowley. Not a single hair was out of place. A perfect clone. The very thought made Aziraphale weak; it meant the _other_ one, yet introduced, would be the same. These weren’t Crowley’s friends. They were Crowley. They were every single bit apart of him as Crowley was himself, sitting there with a smug look on his face. It was already obvious, how this was affecting Aziraphale. This would be _easy._

“And,” Crowley continued, “Crawley, if you please.”

The first—Asmodeus—stepped back, and Aziraphale saw the second one. Just the same. A spitting image of Crowley. If Aziraphale had had eyes to see, he might have noticed the strings that connected them. Just little extensions of everything Crowley was, and everything that it would mean. Instead, he was too focused on just _seeing_ them. Seeing more than one Crowley, knowing that it was Crowley staring him down from across the room just as much as it was Crowley keeping hands on his shoulders to keep him on his knees.

“They both know you very well,” Crowley leaned into his hand, then, leering down. “They know what you like. They know how you like it. And they know just how _bad_ you’ve been.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Aziraphale retorted. He sounded much rather more afraid than he felt. “Crowley, please. I don’t—you wouldn’t let them hurt me, would you?”

“Who said anything about hurting you, angel? No, no. You’re too soft for that, aren’t you? Poor angel doesn’t like to be hurt, but he still does things he’s not allowed.”

Aziraphale squirmed.

“I have something else in mind for you. Something I’m sure will get your attention.” Then, Crowley snapped his fingers. It was Asmodeus who moved, and Aziraphale realized all too late that it was a blindfold. A sleek, black one that felt much like silk, but it couldn’t be. Silk wouldn’t tie so tightly and sit in place so well around his eyes, and it wouldn’t be so dark. Aziraphale couldn’t see the light from the windows anymore, and he certainly couldn’t see Crowley. It had to be magic.

He was suddenly dragged up to his feet and moved, rather shoved, off towards the left. He knew the flat well enough to know where they were going, but without his sight, it was disorienting all the same. He didn’t know how many steps there were, how many doors between him and the bedroom—that’s where they were going. It had to be. And he heard footsteps behind him. Every time his own steps faltered; he was shoved forward again. Then, he was grabbed by the shoulder, and he heard a door open. The bedroom, he gathered, but there wasn’t a second longer to think before he was pushed forward. This time, he tumbled down to his knees from the force. He’d barely had the wherewithal to catch himself on his hands before he completely hit the floor.

“Get him on the bed,” he heard Crowley, which lit something off at the back of his head. Crowley was still there, but he sounded far away. Like he’d been wandering in behind, like he’d gone somewhere else in the room. Aziraphale couldn’t _see._

The both of them, Crawley and Asmodeus, lifted Aziraphale up until he was on the bed. And what a show of force it was; Aziraphale took a second to wonder if Crowley could do that on his own. If Crowley could lift him off the ground and maybe—well. There were better times to think about that. There were hands all over him, tugging at his clothes and shifting him around. Manhandling him. Through the touching and the grabbing, the only thing Aziraphale could focus on were _hands. _There were three sets of them. He even deigned to think that maybe—

“Crowley?”

There was a laugh off somewhere far away. “No, angel. I’m over here.”

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding in the back of his skull, and it _did_ feel a bit like fear. Had Crowley really invited someone? Was he really going to let someone else touch him? There was no way to know, not without his sight. All he could do was hear and feel—and their voices all sounded slightly different, anyway. There was no way to know if this third, mystery person was someone different or just another clone. The idea even. Excited Aziraphale, just a little. That he didn’t know who was currently undoing the buttons on his trousers or who had ripped his waist coat off. There were hands worming up his leg, too, pulling at his socks and the belts that kept them in place.

All at once, he was naked and untouched. Cool air seemed to surround him and poke at every little nerve on his body like it was fire, too cold to be touched. That, and even if he couldn’t see, he could feel sets of eyes just glaring into him. Looking at his naked body as he squirmed and shivered. His nipples had stiffened in the air, and goosebumps traveled up and around down his skin. It was cold. Purposefully cold—Crowley always kept the flat at a comfortable temperature for himself. This was—Aziraphale gasped when a sudden warmth spread through him. A hand on his thigh, working its way dangerously close to his mound. Cold, like the rest of him, and decidedly undecided. He always preferred when Crowley picked for him, anyway. It made less of a hassle. Decisions were always so tedious, and Crowley always knew what he wanted, anyway. That was the reason, not that Aziraphale liked to be ordered around. Surely.

The hand there stopped just over the swell of his hip, where a crease from his underwear still lingered in his skin. Aziraphale shivered as he tried to anticipate what would happen next. Decidedly, he failed, because the hand disappeared before anything could come of it. All Aziraphale could do was let out a sniveling little whimper and roll to the side. He even managed to push himself up, half sitting, and nothing was done. It was like the room was empty, and he was left there with the cold.

“Should we restrain him?” one of the Crowleys asked. It wasn’t _the_ Crowley, though. Not the one that Aziraphale wanted.

“No, this is much more fun, isn’t it? He’s searching. Can’t you tell he needs someone to touch him?” Crowley’s voice was mocking. He was enjoying watching Aziraphale feel around the bed, only to find an expanse of silk and nothing more.

Aziraphale eventually gave up and laid back down, on his back, and settled for wrapping his arms around his chest. Partially to cover himself, and partially because he _was_ cold. And if Crowley wasn’t going to do anything about it, then he would. Covering his chest was allowed, but when he tried to press his thighs together and curl up, there were hands to ensure that he didn’t. Suddenly, he was dragged to the end of the bed with his thighs spread apart and a hand on each, pressing into the skin with nails and ensuring he stayed open. Aziraphale shuddered, but there was no fighting against it. He let himself be laid out, and everything was still again after that. Everything was quiet, save for the tapping of a shoe.

Crowley had found himself a proper seat in an armchair he miracled up for the sport of it and was watching just far enough away that he could see _everything_. Currently, he was mulling over just where he wanted this to go, and how far he wanted to take it. However far Aziraphale would let him was usually the answer, and Aziraphale was nothing if not _open_, so to say. Quite open, and Crowley found himself smirking at the thought of just what he could do from his seat. A whole lot, he decided, and snapped his fingers. That was all he had to do for them, the _others, _to know what he wanted. They were just him, really, separated out for Aziraphale’s little whimsy, there.

The one he’d named Crawley had suddenly tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s thighs as he leaned down and tasted him, in one broad stripe across his crotch where something might have been if Aziraphale had made an Effort. He jumped all the same, like Crawley had just dug into his cunt instead. It was all tingles and warm, and Crowley loved to watch him react. The way he bounced, how his belly jiggled, and his chest rolled. Crowley dug his fingers into the crotch of his trousers as he watched. Every lick of Crawley’s tongue did a number, something wicked. But when Aziraphale tried to cover his mouth, it was Asmodeus who grabbed his wrists and pinned them down to the bed. Aziraphale was stretched out not unlike a tasty feast.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, dark and demanding. Aziraphale’s entire body reacted to his voice like a well-trained hound, and Crowley grinned. “Won’t you show me your cock?”

That was invitation enough for Aziraphale to craft himself something nice, something he thought Crowley would like. He always enjoyed this part, where he could make an effort for whatever he wanted, however he wanted. He didn’t have to stick to the same make and model, so to speak, and he decided on something that was, for all intentions of the word, pretty. It wasn’t too big, but not small, either. Not average, though, because Aziraphale was anything but average. The cock he presented was thick at the base, short, and tapered off with the perfect mushroomed head. At least he hoped, because he couldn’t see what he’d managed anywhere outside of his head, but from the way the hands on his thighs shivered, Aziraphale thought he’d done a rather pleasing job with it.

A sudden warm, wet _heat_ came down, then, just a second later. Aziraphale gasped at it. His arms jerked, desperate now to get away and to _grab, _as Crawley practically swallowed his cock to the base. He swallowed around it, groaning low in the back of his throat where it reverberated up and sent shocks through Aziraphale’s thighs, up his spine, until he was shaking. His hips bucked up, but Crawley held him down, and Asmodeus had an ever-growing grip on his arms. Then—then there was that third set of hands, the person he didn’t know. If it was Crowley, if it was a person. Their hands swept up over Aziraphale’s chest and grabbed the mounds of his tits and squeezed.

“That’s it,” Crowley hissed from across the room. He was leaning forward onto one hand, one knee, watching intently as Aziraphale bucked and spasmed against his hold.

“C-Crowley—” Aziraphale turned towards the sound of his voice, clearly seeking him out. Just then, Crawley’s tongue poked out and along the slit of his cockhead, drawing a gasp straight from his lips. His tongue pressed and prodded, dipping mere centimeters into his cock and worming around.

Aziraphale couldn’t control himself after that. His hips moved of their own, thrusting into Crawley’s mouth. If not for the grip on his arms, he might have reached down to wrench the touch away, it was that intense. He was held in place, though, while the third mouthed along his collarbone and squeezed over his nipples, massaging the flesh in their palms. It felt so good, too good. Aziraphale’s entire body was alight with _feeling_, and he was going to cry if left long enough. Not being able to see was doing no good for him, either. He was left with no choice but to focus on the tongue, ever and impossibly thin, pressing at the inner walls of his urethra, while fingernails dug into the soft skin of his teets. Just that barest bit of edging on pain—

Crawley pulled back, and Aziraphale let out a hefty sigh of relief. That coil had drawn up tight in his pelvis, but it wasn’t unwinding. Crawley mouthed along the underside of his cock, instead, moving his lips along the curves and veins with the same vigor Aziraphale recognized painfully well. Crowley always ate him out with such enthusiasm, he was helpless to climax within minutes. This was the same—this _was _Crowley, but not the right one. Not his, but his mouth was nearly indistinguishable. He kissed and sucked along Aziraphale’s cock like a professional, groaning as he did and sending helpless little shivers through Aziraphale’s thighs. When he found Aziraphale’s sack, he didn’t hesitate to take one testicle into his mouth and _suck_. Aziraphale’s hips bucked, and then both of them were inside the warmth that Crawley was providing. The tiniest touch of teeth.

“Oh—oh, I can’t—I can’t, Crowley—” Aziraphale cried out, desperately seeking something, now, anything. Movement, freedom, _release._

“Now, now,” Crowley’s voice sounded like it was somewhere else now. Aziraphale breathed hard—where had Crowley gone? Was he close? Was he watching? Had he gone entirely bored at the display in front of him? “This is a gift, Aziraphale. You should _take_ it, like a good boy.”

Aziraphale whined in response, hips bucking uselessly into the empty air. His chest was aching; hands that had continued their ministrations were not letting up. Both nipples were hard and sore little peeks, nail indents decorating his chest, speckled with bruises. Then, he was being kissed, all at once with a force that only Crowley could’ve provided him. Aziraphale moaned into the kiss. Crowley’s lips—he knew them. He knew them so well. He couldn’t get enough of this, and when there was a forked tongue at his lips, he parted for it easily and—

“Good,” Crowley said.

It wasn’t Crowley. It wasn’t Crowley’s tongue down his throat, it was Asmodeus. Aziraphale realized now, but there was no time to kick himself over it. Crawley was hoisting his thighs up over his shoulders and moving in closer, closer, until Aziraphale might as well have been bent in half on the bed with his arse up in the air, resting against Crawley’s chest while he blew hot, hot air over his perineum. Crawley’s mouth was on him again, then, all at once as his cock was taken. Still being kissed, Aziraphale’s cries were swallowed and silenced. Muffled warnings that he was close, he wouldn’t last much longer if Crowley didn’t let him rest.

Crowley had no intentions of letting him rest and snapped his fingers. Crawley mouthed over his perineum until he was down over his hole, a cute little red thing that was always better behaved than Aziraphale. When Crawley licked over it, it quivered and twitched in response. Always ready to welcome anything that was _Crowley._ Crowley, Crowley, Crowley—Aziraphale’s body ached for him, desperately. Aziraphale ached for him. Aziraphale wanted it to be Crowley he was kissing, wanted it to be Crowley tonguing over his hole and moaning into his skin; Crowley to be the one with a cock down his throat instead.

It was Crowley, in essence, but nothing more. Crowley was circling the bed, watching with his eyes a bright yellow and pupils blown. His cock was straining against his trousers, leaving a rather pointed wet spot against the inside of his underwear. He’d get to that eventually, though, because Aziraphale’s entire body jerked when Crawley’s tongue breached him. And that was a better thing to focus on. Aziraphale didn’t need to breathe, which meant Asmodeus could kiss him for the rest of their time together, and Aziraphale would never get a word out.

Crowley rather liked that, he thought. Watching Aziraphale so helpless. It was a strange sort of feeling, the jealousy of it, though. He was watching three copies of himself fool with Aziraphale, and still there was a tugging heat in his chest that said _he__’s yours._ Soon. Soon enough.

Crawley had a very particular skill, and he was putting it to good use. Every breath was hot, scalding against Aziraphale’s skin as he ate him out. His tongue was working wonders that Aziraphale could only dream of, and did, frequently. It had changed from a thin, forked snake tongue the moment it pressed inside him. It was thick, now, a human’s tongue and probably more, working along his inner walls like his life depended on it. And it was _long._ Long, thick, and still forked. Positively dead set on lighting every single nerve inside Aziraphale on fire, and it was working. Aziraphale couldn’t move away, and he couldn’t get closer. All he could do was wind his hips around, trying to find just that perfect spot—it was too much. All of it.

The third’s mouth was down on him, sucking and humming over his cock. With hallowed out cheeks and a bare press of teeth, it was the best blow-job Crowley had ever given him, and Aziraphale didn’t even know if this was Crowley—part of him, anyway. Then the kissing. Deep and possessive. Aziraphale was drooling in long strands down the side of his lips, over his jaw. Asmodeus’ claws, as they were, were digging into his arms to keep him perfectly in place, and when Aziraphale began to shout—he was coming—every sound was swallowed right down.

Just before Aziraphale came, the third pulled away. Crawley twisted his tongue just so, squeezing into his hips, and there was always this little spot inside Aziraphale’s mouth that drove him up a wall. Asmodeus seemed to know just where it was and how not to leave it alone. A moment later, Aziraphale was crying out into Asmodeus’ mouth and coming over himself in long, fluid strips that landed over his belly, his chest. Then, his arms were released, and Crawley let his legs hit the bed again. All at once, no one was touching him. Aziraphale was panting, heavily. Not because he needed to, but because the comfort in it was still there—still made him feel like he was regaining himself in the following, quiet seconds.

“That was a wonderful little show,” Crowley praised. “You did well, Aziraphale. Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Yes—Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale managed out. “I’m sorry. I’ll never be late again—”

“Oh, you think this is about lateness?” Crowley seemed surprised, humored, even. “No, no. Oh, dove,” Crowley sounded so close. Inches away, Aziraphale thought. Almost close enough to touch if he could find the strength to move his arms. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson _at all._”

Hands were back, all over him with nails and palms, grabbing and manhandling him until he was sitting in the third’s lap, propped up with his knees forced apart. His back was pressed into their chest, their arms around him and molding over his chest again. Red little bruises had started blooming all around his nipples, and his nipples themselves were sore and swollen, but the third took to squeezing and pinching them for every cute little noise it drew out. After the snap of Crowley’s fingers, Crawley was moving forward between Aziraphale’s knees with slicked fingers. Two of them slid inside Aziraphale without warning and without resistance.

Aziraphale keened at the sudden split, and Crawley didn’t stop until he was knuckle deep inside. Then, his fingers worked with machine-like accuracy and stamina. Pistons in and out of him, stretching him open and rubbing into the walls. The slide was smooth and fast, too fast. Again, nearly too much for Aziraphale to handle with how his nipples were being played with, too. He’d always been so sensitive, there, in his chest. Crowley knew that, though. He knew Crowley knew that—that was the point. To take him apart inside out.

Crawley withdrew his fingers and came back with three, pressing into Aziraphale with a sudden slickness he wasn’t expecting. He opened right up the fingers, because he wanted to. Aziraphale wanted them as deep as they could get probing him open and making him feel things. Little sparks of pleasure, a long wave of heat that had taken over his body. All he could do was work his hips down over Crawley’s fingers, whimpering and begging for more—more. He wanted _more._ He always wanted more, and he trusted that Crowley had a plan.

“Shit, angel,” Crowley was at the side of the bed, now, watching with a critical eye. “You’re a fucking delight, do you know? Positively wonderful.”

Aziraphale preened, working his hips again. He rolled them, rocked them, anything that he thought would put on a good show for Crowley. Crowley was watching, and there was that distinct sound of crumpling denim as he worked at his cock through his trousers. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought, imagining Crowley standing not a foot away, watching him and palming himself for it. Every pointed roll of his hips had him bouncing in the third’s lap, shaking his body and his fat just the way Crowley liked to watch. Then, another snap. Aziraphale threw his head back as a fourth finger wedged its way inside of him, along the others. Crawley was working with such precision, every swipe of his fingertips brushed just so over Aziraphale’s prostate.

That meant Crowley wouldn’t be joining them just yet. He needed to try harder. If there was a way to entice Crowley to the point he would snap, it would be like this. Taking everything that he gave him with wild abandon, fucking himself down on Crawley’s fingers and letting his voice echo through the bedroom. He wanted it, so bad. He needed it. He needed Crowley, but he would take what he could get. Even if his chest was near numb and there was an ache spreading up his thighs from how far the third had spread them with their knees. Aziraphale still wanted, wanted, and _wanted._

“Crowley, I’m—I’m ready, I need you,” Aziraphale gasped out.

“You’re ready, are you?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly, trying to follow the sound of Crowley’s voice. Crowley sounded positively wrecked, like he was struggling to keep himself composed and off the bed. Aziraphale knew what buttons he needed to push; he just needed to push harder, at the right time. Aziraphale rolled his hips.

“I’m ready! Please, please. I need you, dear. _You._”

“You have me, _dear_,” Crowley mocked. Crawley’s fingers disappeared at the same time, and what came back at Aziraphale’s entire body shaking. The blunt top of Crawley’s fist pressed up against his hole, positively dripping, and worked its way inside just as easily as his fingers had. Aziraphale couldn’t even _moan_. His head was thrown back into the thirds shoulder, and he tried to grab at Crawley, at the third—the sheets, but Asmodeus was still there to stop him.

This time, Aziraphale’s hands were yanked up above his head and into the air. The weight on the bed changed as Asmodeus joined them, and then it was Asmodeus who pressed his cock into Aziraphale’s open, voiceless mouth. A pleasant and warm little invitation that Crowley couldn’t ignore, not when he could _feel_ everything that was happening. He collapsed back into his chair, finally giving in and undoing his trousers to work them down his hips. He was aching, dripping, and making quite the mess of himself. But now, he could feel Aziraphale’s mouth around him—around Asmodeus’ cock—the way that his throat worked, and his cheeks hallowed in a desperate and heady attempt to please him.

“That’s good, angel,” Crowley praised. He leaned his head back into his chair while he grabbed at himself, giving a few indulgent strokes. “Just like that, dove, you know what to do. You can take anything I give you, can’t you?”

Aziraphale moaned around the cock in his mouth, and Crowley twitched in response. Asmodeus began to rock his hips on command, thrusting down into Aziraphale’s welcoming throat. He was so, so eager to please, it was almost sad. Crowley would take, take, take just as much as he would give, and he was giving. Crawley had worked his entire fist up inside of Aziraphale, and moved it then in a slow, rhythmic little rock. None of them wanted to hurt Aziraphale; there wasn’t much fun in hurting him. Aziraphale didn’t particularly like pain, and he’d always made sure Crowley was aware of that. Unless it was spanking, because every angel needed to be spanked once and awhile. So, Crawley stayed with a slow movement, just enough inside that his fist had disappeared, but not deep enough to make Aziraphale uncomfortable. It was about the feeling, the sparks and the burning fire that were coursing outward through his nerves.

By the time Crawley pulled back his fist, Aziraphale was teetering on the edge of coming—again. But he fell right back from the edge as soon as Crawley pulled away, now with nothing but Asmodeus’ cock down his throat. He didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, there was a slicked-up cock pressing at his hole instead. From below, the third was getting first dibs on him in whatever irony Aziraphale still had a mind left to think about. He was so taken with his current task, sucking cock, that he nearly didn’t notice. Then, he was impaled fully over the prick, and he groaned over Asmodeus’s cock. It twitched in his mouth, getting thicker to the point where Aziraphale could do nothing but swallow it down his throat and moan each time the third rammed their cock inside of him.

He felt stuffed, positively full from every angle, and then _tears_ were dripping down from beneath the blindfold when Crawley’s fingertips danced around his stretched-out hole. The prick inside him stilled while Crawley seemed to smear more fluid around the area, and then his finger just. Slipped right in alongside the cock while the third got back to work, rolling his hips up into Aziraphale and jolting his whole body with it. Aziraphale was shaking; he was going weak with it all. His arms were still yanked up above his head, and he was practically immobile in his position. When Crawley worked a second finger inside him, along the prick, he was helpless to just moan around Asmodeus and cry for it.

Crowley was watching. He had to be good for him. He could _feel_ the way Crowley was staring from across the room, still stroking his cock in a slow and idle movement that suggested that he was getting bored. That was about as far from the truth as anything could have been, though, because Crowley was barely holding on by a hair. He felt surrounded by Aziraphale. Like somehow he had Aziraphale’s throat around his cock and the slick heat of his ass. An impossible thing, he knew, but the feeling was all the same. He was going to come if he lost focus, and the only way to prevent that was to focus entirely on _not_ coming. He’d lost focus for everything else, which meant he was growing back scales, and he’d stopped breathing the second Aziraphale had a cock in him. Aziraphale always looked so good with a cock inside of him. Like he was made for it. Like he was made specifically for Crowley to do with as he pleased, and they both did so please.

“On with it,” Crowley suddenly gritted out, because he was getting closer with each passing second. Every grip around his cock that he could feel that wasn’t his own hand was sending horrible thoughts through his head, but he had to see his through to the end. So, they obliged.

Crawley straightened himself up and pressed his cockhead to Aziraphale’s hole, next, and Aziraphale nearly choked around the cock in his throat. He wouldn’t choke, though, because if he did—that was game over. Crowley would stop everything, and he would never get what he wanted. Aziraphale endured the whole while, his hips bucking of their own accord, as Crawley worked his cock inside of him, alongside the first. Aziraphale just split right open for it, and he keened and moaned, sending vibrations straight though Asmodeus’ cock and back to Crowley, who stifled a groan on the back of his hand.

“What a slut you’ve become, dove,” Crowley said with awe in his voice. “You’ll open for any cock, won’t you?”

The noise from Aziraphale’s throat sounded panicked, a little sad, like he was eager to refute that but wasn’t given any option. The vibration was pleasant, all the same, and Crowley let out his own groan as he doubled forward. The noises continued, louder and muffled, as Crawley and the third started to move together. One cock in, one pulled back, and they moved against each other like that while Aziraphale helplessly and prettily worked himself down. He was _made _for this, to take cock. He was so good at it. His hips rolled, they circled, and bucked. He impaled himself every bit as far as he could with his position trapped, like that, and still had thought enough to moan and suck around the prick in his mouth.

Crowley had a change of heart, then, listening to Aziraphale’s muffled cries. He wanted to hear those cries. He wanted to drink them in all for himself, not just some extension of him. Nearly in command, though it was bound to happen anyway, Asmodeus’ hips started to falter and shake as they fucked into Aziraphale’s throat. Two thrusts, three, four, and an erratic roll before he came. Asmodeus let go of his hands to hold his head, to keep him from backing away from the hot stream of cum. He was forced to swallow until Asmodeus was done, and when Asmodeus pulled back—

“Open your mouth, Aziraphale,” Crowley ordered from his chair. Aziraphale did as he was asked. He’d swallowed everything, and Crowley loved to know that. Loved to know that he could put himself inside of Aziraphale in so many different ways, and all of them just as fun.

Asmodeus disappeared after Crowley’s next snap, and Aziraphale fell back into the third with a thump. He was useless, helpless, and moved with each thrust only because they were manipulating him, manhandling him around. All the while, Crowley just listened to the litany of cries Aziraphale let out for him. They were weak and tired, wrecked and spent. Aziraphale was close, again, and Crowley snapped again that the two would redouble their efforts. They wouldn’t get tired, not if he didn’t let them, and it was Crawley who brought Aziraphale over again with a very pointed thrust over his prostate.

“You’re cheap,” Crowley accused, and it sent a shudder straight through Aziraphale’s spine. Aziraphale _liked _coming. He liked how it felt, how it made his whole body go slack and tingle with warmth. So, he always made his prostate a little easier to find, a little bigger, protruding—anything he could to make sure it wouldn’t go untouched. And he _came_ like that, his cock left alone and bobbing uselessly between his thighs. Because that’s what Crowley liked, knowing that he could pleasure his angel on his prick alone. It was something like a badge of pride.

“You’ve always been a cheap little whore, haven’t you?” Crowley continued. He was feeling a bit better, less pent up, and talking wasn’t so hard. Especially not when every word seemed to rouse Aziraphale’s cock back awake. “You just want to be fucked, look at you. You don’t even know who’s doing it, and you’re still coming for them. Do you think that’s good of you?”

“Crowley—”

“Answer me, Aziraphale. Do you think you’ve been _good_ to come like that? On faceless pricks?”

Aziraphale let out a particularly loud gasp—Crawley and the third hadn’t stopped moving. They were both still fucking him mercilessly, stealing away what breath he had left and lighting every nerve into overdrive. The tears started to flow once more with renewed effort—Aziraphale didn’t know if he could take this for much longer. Oh, but he had to. He had to, for Crowley, or Crowley might never join him.

“Yes—” Aziraphale said. “Yes, yes—yes! Crowley, please!”

“Oh, dove,” and Crowley was standing. “Do something more for me, will you?” a question said in the same dark voice, but was a real one. It was the chance for Aziraphale to tap out and say he’d had enough, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t had Crowley yet, and he _needed_ to have Crowley.

“Anything, love,” Aziraphale gasped.

“I’ve had enough of your cock, angel,” Crowley said. “I want a cunt.” Crowley even deigned to reach out, now, and drag his fingers along Aziraphale’s belly. Aziraphale jolted in response, immediately, moaning and whipping his head around to try and _see_ Crowley. He knew Crowley’s touch better than any of them, and his nails weren’t short and dull to prevent hurting him. They were still sharp, painted black, and ghosting over his skin before he grabbed Aziraphale’s prick none too kindly. Aziraphale cried out, once more.

“Did you hear me, dove? I said I want a _cunt._” He punctuated each word with a hard tug until Aziraphale was coming again. Then, Crawley was pulling out just as Aziraphale did as he was asked. In the place of his cock, suddenly, was a fat and wet pussy buried beneath neat little curls.

Crowley audibly groaned, but nothing. He did nothing. He stood back as Crawley shoved himself inside that tight heat, the squelch of it sounding in the space between them. Aziraphale was positively dripping, and every hard thrust displaced more of that fluid from inside him. It dripped down from his hole, wetting the skin there and his labia, until it slid over his perineum and down over the prick still working its way up into his ass. Aziraphale was positively full, bursting, even. He’d gone completely limp in the hold, able to do nothing but lie there and take what was given to him. And Crowley. Oh, Crowley was losing his patience. He reached out and ran his hand through Aziraphale’s hair, tugging on it and moving his head around until they might have been looking at one another. But, Aziraphale couldn’t see. All he could do was gasp and reach out for Crowley, grabbing his arm.

“Crowley—please,” he managed out. His voice broke at a particular movement. Crawley and the third were working _together_ now, and with two bundles inside of him, the response was twice as intense. Aziraphale’s thighs were trembling beyond what he could control, and he looked positively wrecked. His face was red and blotchy, his chest nearly the same color, with marks from nails and bruising coloring around there and his hips. Still, he tried to call out for Crowley.

“I can’t—I won’t—I’m not going to—” Aziraphale seemed unable to put a sentence together, but he was _trying_. He was trying so hard, and all he could do was gape and grab at Crowley uselessly, try to pull him forward. “_You_,” he managed. “Crowley—please, I—” and he cut off again. A shout, this time.

Whatever control Crowley still had disappeared in that moment. He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was alone on the bed. He was just as helpless, just as spent, but alone and lying flat on the silks. Crowley joined him as fast as he could wish away his clothing, finding a warm and wet place between his thighs where he could dig his fingers into. Aziraphale hiccupped, moaned, and bucked down as Crowley’s fingers sunk inside of his cunt. He _knew_ those fingers.

“Crowley—! Crowley, Crowley, Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, gripping into the sheets. In the same breath, Crowley leaned over him to rip the blindfold off and take him in a hot and heavy kiss. They kissed, tongues rubbing together and inside the others mouth, until Aziraphale had spasmed and gushed over Crowley’s fingers. Crowley used the fluids to coat his own prick before pressing right up inside that warmth, and nothing Aziraphale had expected happened.

He’d expected Crowley to take him, to own him, possess him. To fuck him with all the madness of a wild animal in heat. Instead, Crowley wiped his fingers on the sheets and bent over until he’d nearly enveloped Aziraphale, supporting himself with forearms around Aziraphale’s head. He wasn’t so much fucking him as rocking with him, keeping their hips pressed together and his cock as deep inside him as it would go. Crowley looked positively crazed with his eyes blown wide, as they were, and scales popping up over his cheeks. Aziraphale might have touched them if he could feel his arms, so instead he just let his eyes close as Crowley kissed around his jaw, his neck, and nipped at him to leave marks.

“So good,” Crowley hissed, “you’re so good. You’re perfect, everything—a magnificent little slut,” he groaned, rolling his head to the side. He was looking for his own climax, now, and chasing after it quickly. “You always feel so good. You open right up for me, don’t you? Made for me, you are, my perfect little—” he grunted, pulling back to ground himself into the fat on Aziraphale’s hips and give him a few good, pointed thrusts. Enough to send him farther up the bed.

Aziraphale didn’t have the strength to even cry out, anymore. He laid there, whimpering and crying, watching Crowley fuck him. He took in every little detail he could pick up, from the fold of his brows to the crease in his cheeks—the tension in his lips, his necks, the way that his chest seemed to flex with the effort of his hold on Aziraphale’s hips.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley cried. His movements were erratic, desperate, and he fell back over Aziraphale again to push through his hair. To look right into his eyes as their hips moved in unison, and _God_, Aziraphale would remember that look for the rest of his life. As Crowley came inside him, Aziraphale’s name on his lips, and scrunched up his face in all cute little manners as he tried to hold himself together, after that.

It was all Aziraphale could do to reach out and soothe his fingers along the tight muscles of Crowley’s shoulder, trying to help him along. As he came, his hips continued to jerk in hot, sweet little movements until Aziraphale was coming again. And again, two on top of each other. His head rolled back, and he groaned; Crowley kissed along his neck and jaw as he did, marveling in the soft heat of his skin, until the high died down. Once he’d finally regained control of himself, he eased out of Aziraphale, slowly. Careful not to hurt him or cause any sort of discomfort. Aziraphale still whimpered, but the tears had all but stopped.

Crowley breathed again.

“Aziraphale,” he croaked, “are you alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, “more than.”

Crowley let out a sigh of relief and all the tension he’d been holding up in his shoulders. He fell against Aziraphale, then, in some weak mock of a hug. Aziraphale smiled into his cheek, kissing him, and patting what he could reach of his arm. They stayed like that for a long and quiet moment, just basking in each other. Aziraphale felt positively boneless, and Crowley surely looked the part. But, after that moment was up, Crowley groaned and pushed himself back up to his hands and knees. His elbows cracked as he did, and Aziraphale chuckled at him, but then Crowley was plopping down on his rump besides Aziraphale.

“You look dazed,” Aziraphale commented, but he’d nearly lost his voice.

“I’m fine,” Crowley replied quickly. “I’m fine. We need to get you cleaned up.” But when Crowley raised his hand to snap, Aziraphale shook his head.

“The real way, if you please?” Aziraphale asked rather sweetly, with pink little cheeks and a smile on his lips. “I would very much like you to touch me more, even if it’s just a bath.”

“A bath, then,” Crowley agreed.

He did just as Aziraphale needed of him, in that moment. He started a bath with less than hot water and eased them both into it. Aziraphale stayed in his lap the majority of the time, leaning against him in utter exhaustion while Crowley cleaned him. Crowley spared little attention to himself but made sure he was at least clean enough to sleep with before he drained the water and wrapped Aziraphale up in his plush bath robe. Like he’d read Aziraphale’s mind, Crowley lifted him, all at once, without help. If Aziraphale had strength left to be aroused, he would have been. Instead, he just leaned into Crowley’s shoulder and let his eyes dip closed.

They only opened again when they were both in a suddenly very clean, fresh bed, and underneath the sheets. Crowley had shifted them just so that Aziraphale was still pressed up against him, but comfortable. They both were, and the blankets were up to his chin. Aziraphale pressed impossibly closer and smiled. He was warm. And there was a pleasant ache traveling up the length of his body, which he was in no hurry to get rid of.

Once again, then, “are you alright?” Crowley asked.

“I promise, I’m fine,” Aziraphale assured. Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale and pressed a kiss into his temple.

“You know I don’t mean things when we do that, right? I don’t really think you’re a slut or that I own you—”

“I know, Crowley, I know. I appreciate the things you say.”

Crowley nodded and spoke no more on the subject. He just held Aziraphale as close as he could manage, their legs tangled together, and hands interlocked between them. In a rare bit of indulgence, Aziraphale ended up falling asleep first, and only because Crowley opted not to sleep at all. Instead, he stayed just in the right position that he could watch Aziraphale and ensure, for all his assurance, that he was fine.

**Author's Note:**

>   
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